


Kiss it better

by Tinglecannon



Series: Fairgameweek2020 [5]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Dialogue Heavy, Fellas is it gay to patch your partner's wounds?, Flirting, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, It sure is, Light Angst, M/M, Tension, fairgameweek2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23237725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tinglecannon/pseuds/Tinglecannon
Summary: Day 5: Hurt/Comfort“This isn’t the way to the infirmary, shamrock.”“Not going, said I’m fine.”“Excuse me?” Qrow rounded in front of him and braced a hand on his chest to keep him in place. “The hell you’re fine. We aregoingto the infirmary.Now.”Clover blew out a small sigh. “It’s fine, really, nothing so serious I need to take up space there. I have some medical supplies back in my room, I’ll patch this up after I send my report.”Qrow couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This was some Atlesian joke, right?“Are you anidiot?!”Clover blinked, eyes wide and brows arched up to his hairline. “I uh, don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that to my face before.”“So yes,” Qrow scoffed.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Series: Fairgameweek2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1665670
Comments: 15
Kudos: 154





	Kiss it better

**Author's Note:**

> Clover is stubborn and a self-sacrificer when he isn't being a massive cocky flirt pass it on.
> 
> Day 5: Hurt/Comfort

It was supposed to be a simple mission. There shouldn’t have been any concern for Grimm or fighting or _anyone getting hurt_.

But it all happened so fast.

A group of Centinels ambushed them during a routine check on the new launch station, though even with the element of surprise on the Grimms’ side they weren’t a match for the duo. Clover swung Kingfisher around with expertise, tangling pairs of the centipede-like creatures together for Qrow to then slice their heads off with Harbinger in scythe form. All was going well, or so Qrow thought until the second he landed back on the ground and felt it vibrate underneath his feet.

Before he could react one last Centinel burst from the rock wall behind him, pincers raised and ready to strike. Clover, the ever self-sacrificer he is, dove in between Qrow and the incoming attack and suffered a swift slice from the bottom of his ribs out to his side. He shouted out in pain, but with the strength of a true Huntsman he threw Kingfisher’s line out to restrain the last Grimm for Qrow to jump over him and strike it clean through with Harbinger.

The moment it was all over he fell to his knees, one hand braced against his wound and the other holding his weapon in a grip so tight his knuckles turned white. Qrow rushed to his side in an instant.

“Hey, move your hand, let me see the damage.”

“‘M fine,” Clover hissed through his teeth.

 _Atlesians. Stubbornness must be a part of their DNA._ “No, you are _not_ fine, this could be serious. Now move.” Qrow had to forcibly pry the man’s hand away; his fingertips and the palm of his glove covered in red, leaving a vaguely handprint-shaped stain on his pristine, pressed uniform. Or what used to be pristine; the Centinel’s pincers tore through his coat when it struck him, and all the blood stained the surrounding fabric a deep burgundy color. It was difficult to tell in the dim lighting of the area but the wound didn’t appear to be fatal, luckily avoiding puncturing the skin deep enough to hit any major organs nor anywhere near any arteries. 

Good.

He’d still need medical attention though. However, given the way the man sucked in a deep breath before slowly rising to his feet, wiping his mouth on the back of his glove while lifting his non-blood-covered hand to his ear to relay updates and instructions to the other teams gave Qrow the impression that he was _not_ going to do so easily. 

Great.

Qrow also rose to his feet and reached his hand out to grab Clover’s wrist and hold him in place. “Hey, you have to take it easy, you’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine,” Clover repeated. To his credit, his voice and breathing were a little more normal, but Qrow could tell it was because he was forcing them. “I radioed the transport, we’re leaving. Harriet, Marrow, Ruby, and Weiss will be landing in the next few minutes to take over patrol.”

“Great, we can get you some medical help then,” Qrow urged, his tone leaving no room for debate.

Clover eyed him, but didn’t say anything else. His face looked a little pale, and beads of sweat were forming on his forehead.

When the transport landed and the next watch group disembarked, all of them immediately rounded on Clover demanding to know what happened. The man was quite the actor, because he quickly and successfully reassured them the wound was not as bad as it looked, yes he was going to get it checked out, yes he was fine, no he didn’t need help. Harriet didn’t seem to worry much, Weiss politely backed off, meanwhile Ruby and Marrow would not stop giving Clover words of well wishes even as the doors to the transport started to close.

The moment the doors closed Clover all but collapsed in his seat. “Woah, hey! Easy,” Qrow held him up and against his chest.

“Sorry,” Clover mumbled. His head rested on Qrow’s shoulder and he leaned heavily against him. Qrow told himself it was just to stay steady as he wrapped an arm around Clover’s waist.

The ride back to base was quiet. Clover kept his breathing controlled and his eyes closed. Qrow could tell he didn’t pass out or fall asleep but was trying to ignore the pain. The moment they landed, Clover moved out of Qrow’s space and stood in one fluid movement. Qrow suppressed the disappointed feeling at the loss of contact. That wasn’t important right now.

Clover strolled off the transport as best as he could, stride hardly faltering as he walked with purpose. He still held a hand to his wound and his face was tight, but for the most part (aside from the bloodstains) he appeared and acted normal. Qrow rushed off after him.

“This isn’t the way to the infirmary, shamrock.”

“Not going, said I’m fine.”

 _“Excuse me?_ _”_ Qrow rounded in front of him and braced a hand on his chest to keep him in place. “The hell you’re fine. We are _going_ to the infirmary. _Now_.”

Clover blew out a small sigh. “It’s fine, really, nothing so serious I need to take up space there. I have some medical supplies back in my room, I’ll patch this up after I send my report.”

Qrow couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This was some Atlesian joke, right?

“Are you an _idiot_ _?!_ ”

Clover blinked, eyes wide and brows arched up to his hairline. “I uh, don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that to my face before.”

“So yes,” Qrow scoffed.

Clover’s brows lowered into a furrow and the corners of his lips ticked down ever so slightly. “I’m ok, Qrow, I promise. There are people far more injured and scared than I am that need all the medical help we have available.”

Qrow was getting really sick of self-sacrificers. There were plenty of people hurt in Mantle that were getting driven up in droves to Atlas’ hospitals, but that didn’t mean important Huntsmen and Huntresses should ignore their own injuries. Much less in favor of doing fucking _reports and paperwork_. Gods, Atlesians were infuriating.

Fine. He wants to be difficult, two can play at that game.

“Report can wait. We either go to the infirmary, or I go with you to your room and patch this myself.”

If this were under different circumstances, the way Clover’s ears tinted pink and he opened and closed his mouth a handful of times with no noise coming out would’ve been adorable. Qrow would’ve teased him for it too.

It was still adorable, but this wasn’t the time for teasing.

“That’s, uh, that’s not necessary, Qrow---”

“ _Clover I swear_ \--- If you don’t accept my help I’ll beat you unconscious and drag you to the infirmary instead.”

Clover’s eyes widened again.

“You have a very...aggressive way of showing you care.”

Qrow narrowed his eyes and held up a fist. “You got five seconds to agree to my terms.”

“Ok, geez, put the fist away.” Clover, to his credit, didn’t flinch too much. He even chuckled while mumbling, “I see where Yang gets it from.”

“Enough talk, we’re going. Now,” Qrow grabbed Clover’s free hand and started to drag him away, taking note of how the man's steps turned sluggish. He absentmindedly hoped he didn’t run into any of his kids as he and Clover weaved through the halls in silence with their hands clasped.

When they reached Clover’s private quarters, Qrow leaned against the doorframe as Clover fumbled with the keypad, using the hand that was still linked with Qrow’s (because the other had blood on it and that was unsanitary) to punch the buttons. The door clicked unlocked, and he looked at Qrow expectantly, to which he cocked a brow. “What?”

“Kind of difficult to open a door with your hands preoccupied.” Clover raised their joined hands and flexed the fingers still holding his side to emphasize his point.

Qrow blinked, “O-oh. Right.” He quickly pushed off the frame and turned the handle, pushing the door open and leading them inside, the lights flickering on automatically. It’s then that Qrow remembered he’s never actually _been_ in Clover’s room before. He suddenly felt a little awkward, glancing all over the place taking in all the details. 

Clover was the captain of the Ace Ops, so his private quarters being huge made sense, but this felt _excessive_. All the furniture, walls, and surfaces were that same flawless, stark white Atlas used to decorate _everything_ with the floor to floor carpeting being a muted gray. The entire layout was open concept, so from the door one can clearly see the kitchen and living room, the only thing dividing them was the floor change from tile to carpet. Leading to the back wall was a short ascend of three wide stairs that ran from wall to wall, with a large dark oak desk and advanced computer system set up on it on one end, and rows of bookcases on the other end, all against a backdrop of floor to ceiling windows (which in a place like Solitas must’ve been a _fortune_ in heating costs). There was a hallway right in front of the stairs to the left that must lead to the bathroom and bedroom.

The kitchen had an island in the center that was the size of a small couch, with a stainless steel sink in by one corner, the walls of the kitchen were lined with counters the same material as the island, the cabinets and drawers were wide with silver handles, and there was just about every appliance imaginable available. The only ones that looked even vaguely used were a blender, a glass water boiler, and the gas stovetop. The lights were bright, far too bright for Qrow’s tastes. There were large fancy glass bulbs that hung above the kitchen island, which made the glossy white surface of the island glow. In the living room hung a gigantic flat screen on the wall surrounded by a long couch, a few plush seats, wooden end pieces between each seat and the couch, and a glass coffee table with gold accents.

The small office-like space in the back looked the most used, with piles of paperwork on the desk, a forgotten mug, and stacks of books neatly arranged in the bookcases.

The only signs of any color, any _trace_ of _Clover_ specifically and not just Atlas Standard(™), came from the rows of various healthy green plants that lined the tops of the bookcases in the back, the side table next to the door, and the center of the kitchen island. Somehow their presence alone took the space from looking unwelcoming and sterile to homey and inviting.

Qrow regretted his decision of not just punching Clover out and dragging him to the infirmary.

“It’s all ridiculous, right?” Clover’s voice cut through the minutes of silence as Qrow eyed every surface of the room.

“Huh?”

“My quarters. It’s…” Clover looked around with an unimpressed expression and waved lazily with his blood-covered hand, “Over the top. A waste of wealth. And no, I’m not allowed to change the furniture, it’s the room I live in but it’s not _my_ room. Kind of like a leasing situation.”

“...that’s a joke.”

Clover smiled wryly, “Do I look _like_ I like having my space designed like a hospital?”

Qrow made a show of pursing his lips, humming loudly as his eyes looked Clover up and down a couple of times. “A little bit,” Qrow smirked.

Clover pouted and his brows furrowed, “That hurts.”

His brows furrowed too much and his face was a little too pale for the playful tone to land right. Clover was doing a great job pretending he wasn't in any discomfort, making jokes and quietly letting Qrow waste time looking around, which made Qrow want to kick himself for getting distracted.

"Where's your med kit?"

"Bathroom, under the sink."

Qrow started to pull Clover down the hall with him, looking to him for which door it was, and going through the one he nodded towards. The bathroom was also big and stark, blindingly white, but this time he didn’t spend a lot of time looking around. Qrow motioned for Clover to sit on the closed toilet, then kneeled down to rummage under the sink. The first aid kit took up most of the space, one of those heavy-duty kits that had everything imaginable inside, and it looked _very_ well used. Qrow shot Clover a glare, who had the decency to look embarrassed. “I take it you don’t go to the infirmary often.”

“Um...would you believe me if I said yes?”

“No.”

“Then yeah, I try to avoid it.” Clover looked away and drummed his fingers on his side. “With a semblance like mine, you get a lot of...questions and jokes made whenever you get hurt. ‘What’s the point of good fortune if you’re gonna get beat up anyway?’ And with my position, over time it became easier to just treat minor injuries myself and keep up the airs of never getting hurt." He finished with a small shrug.

Qrow wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He figured Clover was afraid of hospitals or needles or something, or that he just had that trademark Atlesian stubbornness. It never occurred to him this could be related to his semblance.

There was a delicate silence hanging in the air.

Qrow realized he and Clover were still holding hands, so he squeezed it in what he hoped came across as reassuring. “Well, hey, don’t beat yourself up over it,” He purposely mimicked the casual, comforting tone Clover used when he said those exact words to Qrow back in the mines, and waited until Clover turned back towards him. 

“I can patch you up from now on,” Qrow finished with a wink.

Qrow was barely able to bite back a laugh at Clover’s face. A deep, red blush spread from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, his eyebrows shot up to his hairline, and his eyes were wide. Clover loudly cleared his throat, turning away to stare at a spot on the floor and mumbled, “T-thank you…”

“Alright, alright. Let’s get to work.” Qrow gave his hand one last squeeze, then let go, ignoring how sweaty his palm had become during this time. He rummaged through the medical kit, pulling out painkillers, disinfectant, gauze, and gloves, and grabbed a hand towel from the rack. “Take these, then take your coat and undershirt off.”

“How about buying a guy dinner first?” Qrow gave Clover a flat look as he put the gloves on. “Sorry…”

Qrow tipped the bottle of painkillers into Clover’s palm, shaking it slightly until two tablets fell out, and watched him pop them straight into his mouth. Then he moved to his clothes, unlooping his belt first and dropping it onto the floor with a clank, then unbuttoning his coat. He hissed softly as he tried to shrug it off, so Qrow reached up and helped pull it the rest of the way off his shoulders and down his arms. “Here,” Qrow grabbed the ends of his dark grey undershirt and lifted it up and over Clover’s head, careful of how the blood dried on his side made the fabric stick, then gently tugged it down his arms. “Good thing you don’t wear sleeves, huh? Makes it easier to strip you.”

Clover somehow managed not to sputter at that, but his face did turn dark red again, the blush spreading down his neck this time too. Qrow isn’t heartless, so he bites back another laugh and doesn’t comment further. 

Besides, he was a little distracted at having Clover’s bare chest in his face. Too bad there was all that dried blood and an angry looking cut down his side, otherwise he would’ve taken more time to appreciate the tanned, muscular skin and light trails of hair leading downwards.

Qrow turned the sink on and let the water run until sufficiently warm, held the towel underneath, wrung the extra water out, and started gently rubbing the skin around the wound to clean it. Clover stayed very still as Qrow worked and a comfortable silence fell between them. When all the blood was finally washed away from his midriff, Qrow brought the towel up to Clover’s hands, turning them palm side up and scrubbing away the layer of red on his fingers and worn leather gloves. Once they were as clean as they could be without soap, Qrow tossed the towel into the hamper in the corner and grabbed the disinfectant.

“This is going to sting a bit,” He glanced up, making eye contact with Clover, who simply nodded. Qrow applied the disinfectant to the gash, pleased to find once it was cleaned it wasn’t that deep but long and narrow, and murmured an apology when he felt Clover inhale sharply from the burn. He made quick work of this step, then sat up on his knees with the roll of gauze in his hands. He motioned for Clover to lift his arms a bit and leaned in close.

As he deliberately rolled the bundle around Clover's strong abdomen, Qrow tried to ignore the warmth radiating off his body through the thin layers of the medical cloth and the underlying scent of pine needles, clean laundry, and something else that felt distinctly _Clover_ that cut through the chemical smell of disinfectant and metallic smell of blood. To make it worse he could feel Clover's eyes on him. The tips of his ears were getting hot but he pointedly kept his gaze on his hands while he worked.

When he covered the wound with a sufficient number of layers of gauze he fastened the ends with clips and smoothed his fingertips down the front, lingering for a moment before pulling away. Qrow sat back on his heels, removed the gloves, tossed them in the small trash bin, and finally blinked up at Clover. “Feeling better?”

Clover smiled warmly, “Much. Thank you.” He moved to pick up the materials on the floor when Qrow swatted his hand away.

“Ah, no, _I’ll_ clean this up. _You_ should take those gloves off and wash your hands with soap to actually clean them.” Qrow bundled up the disinfectant and roll of gauze left and put them back into the kit, shoving it in the cabinet afterward.

He stood up and moved out of the way for Clover to slowly get up. He peeled his gloves off and washed his hands, the water running being the only noise in the bathroom with them. When he finished and dried his hands, he held them up towards Qrow and wiggled his fingers, laughing when Qrow shoved them away with an exaggerated eye roll.

“Yeah, yeah, great job,” Qrow huffed with a small smile. “You’re a much better patient than Nora or Yang.”

“I try.”

Silence falls over them once more.

Now that there was no need to be cooped up in the bathroom with Clover anymore, Qrow was starting to feel anxious, what with the only exit being blocked. “Uh…”

Clover, doing that thing he always does where he can basically read Qrow’s mind, reached out and opened the door, motioning for Qrow to follow him out. “Are you hungry?”

As if on cue, Qrow’s stomach growled. He glared at the back of Clover’s head when he heard the man snicker.

“I can make something if you’d like.”

“You shouldn’t be cooking, you got hurt.”

“Can you cook?” Clover turned to face Qrow once they were back in the living-room-open-concept-area-place, his hands settled in his pants pockets and body language relaxed. When he didn’t answer immediately, Clover smirked. “Right, so I can make something. I’m not so fragile I can’t make us dinner.”

Qrow bit his lip. It’s not that he didn’t want to spend time with Clover, quite the contrary, though he felt very...strange in the large open pristine white space. His eyes flitted over to Clover’s, and he remembered he’s standing before him shirtless, with only some bandaging covering a few inches of skin.

Staying might not be a good idea.

“You don’t have to stay, though I figured you would want to.”

“Why---” The moment the word left Qrow’s mouth, he knew the answer, and his eyes narrowed. “Wait, you’re just going to do that damn report when I leave, aren’t you?”

Clover shrugged, a lopsided smirk on his stupidly handsome face. “Maybe.”

“I’m staying,” Qrow grumbled. “You better be a good cook.”

“I can work my way around a kitchen fairly well.”

“Don’t expect any help, because I can’t.”

Clover smiled wide and laughed softly. “Well, hey, don’t beat yourself up over it.” Qrow’s breath hitched, and his eyes were locked in contact with Clover’s, crimson staring into teal. 

“I can cook for you from now on.” Clover finished with a wink.

Qrow felt his face start to burn, and mentally cursed how easily a flush showed on his pale complexion. Despite that, he couldn’t keep the smirk off his face. “Well, that sounds like a fair trade to me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes I referenced that scene two whole ass times.  
> No I'm not sorry.  
> Yes I realize it's mean to put kiss in the title and not add a kiss scene.  
> No I couldn't figure out how to include Qrow being a smart ass and kissing his side better.  
> Yes I kind of want to write a second part to this.
> 
> Anyway hope y'all enjoyed! [This is my Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/tinglecannon)


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